


Fate or Chance?

by MonsterTemmie



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Elf, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 07:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18655417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTemmie/pseuds/MonsterTemmie
Summary: Tharael is still getting to the new adjustments with everything that is happening. Can you blame him? His whole life has been a whirlwind of emotions, suddenly coming to a halt. But at least the Prophet is there to guide his way..Male Prophet version.





	Fate or Chance?

**Author's Note:**

> I am the original creator of this story, I have posted it on another site so don't think it was stolen! Although I do thank you for the consideration ❤ I saw a high lack of love for our Tharael so I decided to make some. I hope you all enjoy~ 
> 
> Shout out to BlueEyedWhiteKitty for being the only other author to a great Tharael story. I highly suggest you check it out. She created one before I did ❤

   

 

    He had spent so long in the dank, pitiful Undercity that even within his dreams, he couldn't escape that retched place. No, not dreams.. Memories. Of the cold wind against his face at the opening of the Room of Paintings. He felt so numb, looking to Letho. No.. He was not Letho anymore. Not after what the Father had done to him. Brother Sorrow was how he did, the Letho he knew died long ago. But that didn't take away the pain of beheading the body of someone who was once his _friend._ The person who took care of him without any reason but the kindness of his own heart. As he looked over the edge, preparing to throw himself to plummet down below, believing death to be his own escape from this darkness he felt looming around him.. He felt something unexpected.

    Warmth.

    When Tharaêl turned his attention towards the source of the warmth, a welcomed feeling within the cold air but was still a surprise, he found himself blinded by the light from the window above his bed. He was dazed for several moments, not realizing where he was at first. He slowly pushed himself upward, at first expecting to feel hay or some sort of straw but instead, he felt the warmth of the cotton and soft feeling of the blanket beneath him. He found himself tangled in the blanket, possibly from thrashing all night. He was still in this daze when he felt the sudden pulsation of pain shot to his head. Well, there was no going back to sleep now..

    With a grunt, he untangled himself and got to his feet, making his way towards the kitchen where he poured water into a bowl and gathered it within his hand, washing his face of the sweat from the night prior before resting his hands on the table to lean forward. He pondered over the recent memory that played and for a brief moment, he thought it might have been a dream, reaching over to touch his shoulder were he felt the warmth of a hand.

    No, it wasn't a dream. Tharaêl knew this as he looked around the building. It had been about a whole turn of a month since that event yet he still couldn't get a grasp on it all. After he had his moment with what remained of Letho and some convincing, he finally departed. He brought his dear friend at rest on a hill top in Ark. Even if Letho was tortured, twisted and warped into Brother Sorrow, he still wanted to believe some of the boy he once knew was there. All the while being supported by a _new_ friend and ally. The Prophet.

    As he stretched his arms out to his sides, allowing his thin but still having a good portion of muscle from his time with the Rhalâta to stretch, a series of satisfying cracks following suit. He reached into a satchel, his finger tips searching to feel for the bread he kept in there but sighed when there was none. He ran his fingers through his short dark hair, still growing back. This meant he had to socialize and be out and about. He felt heavily uncomfortable and awkward being on the surface but a man has to eat nonetheless. When he trudged to his room and slipped on a dark tunic and boots, he prepared himself to venture into the outer world, gripping the door handle and pulling back the heavy door after releasing a series of locks.

    To his surprise, something hung on the door frame. It was a satchel, rather large in size with a note pinned to the bag. He was skeptical, violet eyes darting around the area cautiously and when he felt the back, he felt something.. Hard yet with enough force, squishy. The scent of fresh bread came from the bag. He grasped the note, opening it, fearing the worst. Call the man paranoid but with his past, who could blame him? The note read:

_T._

_I wanted to stop by and check on you but I know the last time you needed space and I wish to give that to you. But I want to make sure you're still alright in my own way. Just leading you back to my home in the Noble Quarters was difficult enough in the dead on night so I thought it may be harder for you to venture out into the city just yet. I gathered a few things from the market place for you before venturing out. I'll stop by after to see how you are doing._

_~P_

_P.S. Eat more than bread, damn it!_

    After reading the letter, he knew who it was from and when he peered into the bag, he saw bread, cheese, berries, fruit and something wrapped multiple times in what could be meat, he felt something different surge through his body, reaching his heart. He heard clanging beside him and saw that it was milk bottled. Gathering the items, he slipped back inside and unloaded the hall. Still, he was in the mood for bread but he found himself following the note and sliced some cheese for himself and opened one of the milk bottles. It wasn't a kings feast but to Tharaêl, it felt like it. To have his stomach filled with fresh bread, not the mold he was use to and the cheese and milk he thought would only be a pipe dream to him.

As he ate however, he gently rubbed his chest, feeling his heart burning as he looked to the note.  
  
    "..Did he really go through all this trouble for me?" He asked out loud, his eyes scanning the paper. He wouldn't admit it to himself but he was.. Happy. Touched.

    As he stared down to the paper, he recalled the first time he laid eyes on the Prophet. It was when he was speaking to Rasha, reminding her about the payment that was owed to the Rhalâta. The Prophet stood there, still bloody from the fight with the trio. At the time, he didn't care much for their appearance nor could he careless of their sex either. It was the.. Presence that stuck out to him. The aura about them, it was striking.

His attention turned to him and he gave a single chuckle. "Heh.. Well fought." Was his first words. He decided to watch the next fight when the time came and he departed.

 

    Tharaêl found himself anticipating the next fight and when the day finally came, he was curious to what the turn of events may be. He folded his arms, watching from the shadows with curiosity. The Twins. He has seen them fight before. Brutal brothers with deadly axes. He remembered before watching one of their victim's limbs fly off into the crowd and they enjoyed it a bit too much. They were strong.. But he expected the lights may be on but no one was home.

    When the man of question stepped into the ring, given the title "The Nameless One", cloaked in leathers and a concealed face with a hood, he first thought he didn't stand a chance. His armor wouldn't be able to withstand too many blows from the brothers yet he looked on with interest. When one brother charged forward, axe raised, a pair of long daggers rose upward to clash with the beast of a weapon, sparks forming from the clash. Within the lock, a leather covered foot rose to plant into the other's chest, throwing him back into the other brother and they fell like pillars. The hooded subject stalked around the room like a predator circling their prey. The clash went on for a few minutes but it seemed like the Nameless One was toying with them, only bringing it to an end by his form vanishing before the eyes of the twins. It was too late to find him when the daggers were plunged into one brother's neck, coating the steel in blood. The other's fate was a slit to the throat as he had to counter, raising his axe above his head leaving himself open.

    Slashing the air before him, purging the blood from his steel, the announcer spoke.

**_"Aaaaand we have a winner! Applause Meydame and Meyseres! The Nameless One has earned it!"_ **

    Tharaêl found himself.. Rather amused. And even caught his own hands clapping into each other. Perhaps he underestimated the Nameless One. And for that, he would pay a bit more attention to when he fraught.. He just may prove of use for his own vendetta. 

    His daydream of recollection was shattered when he heard tapping on his front door. No one ever visited him. He climbed to his feet, approaching the door with caution, fearing that this would be a sick twist of fate, that his new life would be shattered, that the Father was merely experimenting on him once more but he opened the door.

    A hooded figure stood there in tight leathers, hanging a satchel to the nail and was about to turn and step away. The moment Tharaêl saw the familiar garb, he reached out to grasp the closest limb to stop the figure; The wrist. The figure turned, looking up to Tharaêl. He could tell he was rather alarmed by the sudden grab by feeling the arm flinch beneath him but there was no other tells. Turning around, the figure turned around and before they could speak, Tharaêl tugged them in and closed the door after gathering the satchel.

    "Good to see you got the first package." The Nameless One said, gesturing to the table, noting the food laid out.

    "Good to see you still sneak about like always.. I thought you were out in the Heartland?" Tharaêl shot back, leaning his back into the door as he gave his signature single chuckle.

    "Well, I wanted to give you space.. After everything.." The Nameless One started, bringing a hand upward to grasp the mask and rested it on the table. Tharaêl bristled slightly and when the figure removed it's hood, revealing ebony hair in a semi-long length, a bit shaggy and a fringe that covered one of his golden orbs, he didn't realize he was holding his breath until he started to feel slightly dizzy, thankful he was leaning on something. It was the first time he recalled seeing the Prophet's face. His features were fair, pale in color and a bit in the middle of being feminine and masculine but did lean in he favor to the masculine side and he thought he saw a slightly sharpened canine when the other's lips curled upward into shy smile.

    He thought he heard him speak to him but he couldn't make out the words. "..I'm sorry?" He said, requesting the other to repeat himself.

    "I asked.. How are you holding up?" The Prophet asked.

    Indeed did the Nameless One accept the job back then and to his surprise, the job was accepted. Thus, by a fated meeting or by chance, they have met but little did he know their fates wound be entertained more than he ever thought possible.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
